


Hell's Bells and Buckets of Blood

by completetheory



Category: Vampire: The Masquerade
Genre: M/M, Queer Themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:09:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24983605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/completetheory/pseuds/completetheory
Summary: Prince Vitel and Prince Rose, and one beloved city shared between them. Kindred the world over agree: making oneself vulnerable is vastly more dangerous than the centuries' old political conflicts.And more dangerous still is a spy, adrift in a strange culture, in danger of going native.
Relationships: Benjamin Rose/Marcus Vitel
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	Hell's Bells and Buckets of Blood

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MadScientific](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadScientific/gifts).



> This is an AU, based only partially on the Clan Novel Saga, which had some great elements, and some that were weakened by the dystopian-aesthetic conceit of the WoD. Any canon, characterization, or continuity errors are therefore intentional. 
> 
> Probably.

Benjamin Rose had acquired that surname thanks to his peculiar appearance. The Nosferatu’s clan quirk, or perhaps some condition of injury just prior to his Embrace, meant that there was a wide, blossoming bloody hole in his face, displaying the nasal bones peeking out white from the gory center. 

He had a beautiful face otherwise, though - black obsidian eyes, long hair with the consistency and color of a corpse’s, and pale green skin to match. 

Like most Nosferatu, Benjamin used this appearance to put shallow Kindred on edge, and gain political advantages. Also like most Nosferatu, it meant he had to spend his time hiding from humanity completely, lest they come to understand there were ‘monsters’ in their midst. 

Unlike most Nosferatu, however, Benjamin was the Prince of an extremely important and valuable East Coast domain, and - with respect to Calebros - Benjamin Rose planned to keep it that way. Washington D.C. was Camarilla, and it was a safe haven for all manner of Kindred who could find acceptance nowhere else. Benjamin welcomed Caitiff, autarkis, Anarchs, even the followers of Set, within reason. All who respected the Masquerade, all who did not flippantly kill, all who kept themselves to their own work and did not seek a disproportionate amount of power, these were the unspoken rules of the uncrowned Prince. 

And for a time it worked very well. He had been Prince of D.C. since before it had been the nation’s capital: at least 1790. And he had always been content to sit back and allow whichever Kindred wished to call themself the Prince publicly to take the heat of that decision. So it was with the arrival of the Tremere Marissa, who respected the Nosferatu in the completely emotionless way that only true political masterminds could muster. Benjamin wasn’t much of a fan, but he was hard pressed to deny the benefits of her presence - an expendable Prince, as the Tremere were always expendable - and he didn’t weep when the Tremere finally grew uneasy with her independence.

Her successor, and probable killer, was a new variable.

On that same cold November night, with treachery so fresh in the air, Benjamin let himself into the thirty story stronghold. He crept with equivalent stealth past the alert ghouls, and the security cameras, with their electronic eyes. Not a whisper betrayed him, and Benjamin ascended the stairs with patience until he came to the door that led to the office of Marcus Vitel. 

There, on the threshold, Rose hesitated for the first time. There were many possibilities. Vitel could rebuff him, as some Ventrue were not happy to share power. Or he could be angry at this intrusion, rather than seeing it as proof of what Rose could do for a Prince who was supportive of the Nosferatu. But there was no sense worrying over what could be, when a simple gesture could prove the truth. He opened the door.

Vitel sat at the desk, paging through accounts, thick ledgers stacked five deep to either side of himself. He had the beautiful countenance of an ancient worlder, a classical Iberian olive skintone, with teeth that shone out in a friendly smile at Benjamin. 

Not the first impression he was used to seeing, especially on a surprise visit. 

“Please come in.” Vitel put aside the ledger. “Benjamin Rose, isn’t it? I thought I’d see you sooner, rather than later. Won’t you sit?” 

Benjamin closed the door behind himself with a gentle click, moving to one of the high backed chairs and sinking into it. This was very interesting. _Very_ interesting.

“Prince Vitel.” Benjamin tried to regain some control over the proceedings, reflecting on how effortlessly he had lost the element of surprise. “I am here to establish a few things.”

“Understandable.” Vitel did not quite interrupt as much as urgently took up a perceived line of thought. “Washington has been your home for a long time, I understand.”

 _Where was he getting this information?_ The Nosferatu was astonished, but thanks to his longstanding practice, managed to avoid showing it on his face. 

“That’s correct.”

Vitel looked gratified to have that answer, “Tell me your concerns.” 

Just by asking that, Rose had to admit Vitel was alleviating a large number of them.

“There is always the risk of instability, when an old Prince falls and a new Prince takes their place.” Rose navigated with slow care. Vitel did not jump in again, but continued to listen intently through the second or so it took for the Nosferatu to marshal his thoughts. “The previous Prince actually benefited from the kine’s prejudices and fears. She cultivated an atmosphere of racism and oppression. The Nosferatu worked with her because we saw mutual benefit, but you may have noticed during the human riots, that we were among them. Supporting them. We have been downtrodden in similar ways, and although I was content to have Marissa as Prince, I did not respect her.” 

“I see.” Vitel opened his hands on the desk, in the manner in which someone might offer something invisible. “So you are concerned that I will be too different, but you are also concerned I will be too much the same. Let me alleviate some of those fears, Mx. Rose. I have no intention of encouraging the kine’s worst nature; I plan to let the riots run their course. As with anything, you cannot enforce a higher morality and not then need to continuously babysit it, and I am much too busy for that. It is my hope that the United States of America will heal itself, sooner or later, from the terrible rift that its human rights abuses have caused in its populace. Then real change, unsupervised by the Kindred, can take place.” 

He was a very compelling Ventrue. His tone was mild, but had the undercurrent of conviction. If nothing else, it seemed he believed in what he said. Rose’s black eyes missed nothing of his face, even in the semidarkness in which he sat - reading ledgers in the dark? He certainly was unusual.

“And of the Nosferatu,” Vitel continued, when Rose seemed content to let him go on, “They, you, have my undying respect. The Camarilla could not function without your contributions as a clan. You will always be welcome in my city, in my Elysiums, and at my closed-to-Kindred social events.” 

“That is more than I hoped for.” Rose admitted, feeling safe enough to return seeming honesty with honesty. “I am happy to support your reign if you _do_ seek that most elusive of leadership goals - stability and progression.”

“I do. I very much do.” Vitel assured him, “And if there is ever a time you feel I stray from this course... I would like to see you here again so that we can discuss it. I keep regular afteroffice hours, and my secretary, Marcy, is a ghoul who sleeps mostly in the daytime.” He wrote down a number, and handed it across to Rose. “I should like to hear from you if you are unhappy.” 

Certainly Princes who did not hear from their subjects if they were unhappy soon understood that fact in other ways. Vitel was nothing if not pragmatic. 

Rose got up, and Vitel had one final surprise for him - the Ventrue held out a hand, and shook Rose’s with earnest delight, clasping it without revulsion or fear. “And even if you don’t have problems,” Vitel urged, “Please stop by if you like. Just for a chat.” 

Over the next few weeks, months, and years, Rose did just that. They fell into a pattern, once every two weeks, if not more, to meet and drink a small cup of blood over discussion: not always business. Vitel enjoyed many things; literature, opera, and the cultivation of Datura. At the top of his building, he had an overflowing garden of the night blooming flowers, in all their glorious shades. 

They were a pretty compliment to the lights of the built up city, that ate the light of the stars and demanded more. The human hive busied itself at all hours now, an improvement for Kindred who worked the night shift by necessity. Benjamin came to look forward to these meetings a great deal, walking with Marcus among the flowers, sharing his own interests and gossip that was of no trading value. And often, Marcus found an excuse to touch his hand before he left, as if he would leave himself with that feeling of physical contact until next they met. 

Knowing the Ventrue importance of hands, Benjamin couldn’t help but read into it. He did suggest, carefully, that Vitel was free to call him Benjamin. 

“I would be delighted if you could call me Marcus, then.” Vitel offered readily, making no stipulations on when - during the meetings of the Primogen, who Vitel had been quick to organize after his takeover. Even in front of his political enemies, potentially. It showed vulnerability.

Not weakness. There was a difference. 

Rose knew there were other Nosferatu Seneschal, Ventrue Prince domains that worked incredibly well. Las Vegas was one of the more famous, and of course in Europe there were Nosferatu Princes who ruled openly. Vermuelen was celebrated far outside the region of his influence for his phenomenal political skill, and he often visited the legendary Hardestadt to discuss matters of policy within Berlin, Belgium, France and even Italy. He traveled a great deal to give advice to other Princes, and would-be Princes. 

And as always, he was content to leave Vitel to the glorious workings of the machine that was Washington D.C. He met Vitel’s Childer, and they were as well disposed as he was to their Sire’s companion. 

This went on for decades, with Vitel fine-tuning control of D.C., making it a safer place for Kindred even as the drug problems and economic depression made it a more dangerous place for kine. There wasn’t much any single Kindred could do for that, unfortunately. It was no better than the riots had been. The kine were either held in thrall by bad leadership or actively encouraging that leadership, and as Vitel had indicated, there was little that force could accomplish unless it was consistently applied. Most of the Camarilla were in agreement with that.

Then when Sascha Vykos came, and the Sabbat made their almighty push into the East Coast domains proper, and things - things went very badly. D.C. was on fire. Rose sought out his old friend, more than a little worry stirring in his dead heart, and he found Vitel sitting among the datura on the rooftop. Rose noted with anxious absence that Vitel didn’t seem to have plans of escaping, though exile was always a preferable option to final death.

“Dangerous little flowers.” Vitel noted, incongruously. “Everything about them is poisonous. The flower, the seeds... the fruit. Even the roots of some species. That’s not why I like them, though. I like them because they bloom at night. And it’s been so long since I’ve seen the sun.” 

Rose was concerned, putting a hand on Vitel’s shoulder. “Don’t write yourself off to a sunrise because of the Sabbat.”

“Oh, I’m not. I’m sorry to worry you - that did sound terrible.” Vitel, normally so well-spoken, had to struggle to get his thoughts together. “I didn’t want you to find out like this, but I’ve really enjoyed our time together and I’m sorry it may have to come to an end now, so abruptly. I thought - but we always think we’ll have more time, don’t we. We waste whatever is given to us so thoughtlessly. And I wouldn’t change it... You’ve been very good to me.” 

Vitel took Benjamin’s hand and kissed it. Now the Nosferatu was extremely perturbed. All this was talking like he did have some kind of horrible plan in mind that might end in his death.

“Find out what?” Rose asked, softly. 

Vitel said nothing for a long moment, trapped in his own thoughts. On the boundary line of ruining something and making it renewed through honesty. He squeezed Rose’s hand. 

“I am not Ventrue. Not by blood, anyway. I have come to think I could make a rather good one, but I did not pass the _agoge._ My Sire was not Ventrue. I am of Clan Lasombra.”

The words washed over Benjamin Rose and his face twisted up in a surprised grimace. “What--” 

“I’m sorry. Believe me. If nothing else, the more I came to know you, the less I wanted to hurt you. It never seemed like a good time to bring it up.” 

Vitel let his hand go, but Rose didn’t retract it, returning it again now to squeeze Vitel’s shoulder supportively. “You are Sabbat?” 

“I was. I don’t know now. I feel there were always hidden strings. That anything I did, or may do, would only benefit someone cleverer and more wicked than myself.” Vitel looked off at the flowers without seeing them. “Please forgive me for lying to you, Benjamin. I never feigned any of the love I felt for you. Or for my Childer... who may not survive this night.” 

“What will you do?” Rose turned his attentions to the future. He took refuge in pragmatism while he sought to digest these revelations. “Where will you go?”

“Baltimore, I think. If you - don’t betray my confidence. I may end up having to ... supply the Sabbat with certain information. I will be as obvious about it as I can,” 

“You don’t need to convince me. I am Nosferatu.” Benjamin reminded him gently, “We have no _antitribu._ We are one Clan with no sect.” 

So of course, selling the Camarilla to the Sabbat was undesirable, but it would not damn him forever in Benjamin’s eyes. He found he wanted that, cared about that, more than anything else. But the betrayal of the Camarilla and the betrayal of the individual were separate matters.

Vitel looked up at him, tears of blood brimming in his eyes. “Are you angry? Disappointed with me?”

“No.” Rose was honest. “No, I don’t think this is a truth that was owed to me, Marcus.” 

He said Vitel’s name with so much of the genuine warmth that Vitel got up, unsteady, embracing him with fervor. “Thank you. Thank you, my friend. My--” He hesitated again. “If only I had more time.” 

Rose suspected he knew what Vitel was about to say. Not time overall, but time here, now, in this very limited and very dire circumstance that demanded action. “I would like that, too. To be close to you, and intimate with you. I await your return, if you survive, Marcus; let that be one of many reasons you come home. You will always be a Ventrue Prince to me, Vitel. Remember that.” 

The arms around him tightened, the shadows behind Vitel did a brief uncontrolled dance among the flowers, overjoyed and overwhelmed. More than anything, Rose had not asked _why._ Had not been embittered, or personally distressed. He tried to memorize the feeling of being close to the Nosferatu, enveloped and nestled by his neck, the surprising softness of his corpse-worn hair. He wanted to bring it with him, if he had to be gone a little while.

“I do love you. I will see you soon.” He promised, and broke away from the embrace. Vitel moved for the rooftop door - but Benjamin took his hand, and squeezed it hard, before he could go. Marcus looked at him in that yearning, soft way that no non-Nosferatu had since Benjamin had been Embraced, and turned away. He headed down the stairs half blinded in a red haze. 

For a few minutes, Rose looked after him, and then he picked up the watering can and began to tend to the datura. There would be some patience required, yet. 

But time? Oh, yes. Kindred had time. If they played their cards right, they had all the time in the world.


End file.
